


worked up

by acceptnosubstitutes



Category: Falling Skies
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Bad Advice, Happy Ending, M/M, Relationship Advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acceptnosubstitutes/pseuds/acceptnosubstitutes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why haven’t you tapped that yet?”</p><p>Pope and Hal attempt to be helpful. Or just lewd. Anthony’s not really sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	worked up

“Why haven’t you tapped that yet?”

Anthony looked askance at Pope, who looked back, expectant of an answer. 

“Are you for real?”

“What?”

Anthony throws a hand at Dick’s back ahead of them, who hasn’t, gods be willing, heard Pope.

“Ah,” Pope nods sagely, “Am I? Yes.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Pope snorts. Crosses his arms. It’s a slow march, little in the way of entertainment. Anthony should probably be ashamed of himself for thinking it, but he could seriously go for a skitter or two, right now. 

Maybe even a mech.

“You wanna tap that, man. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes. Except perhaps,” Pope drawls, chuckles, “maybe him.”

Good, Anthony thinks. Shakes his head. Don’t encourage Pope.

“So?” God but Pope is persistent. 

“Maybe sex isn’t always on my mind.”

There’s a knowing twinkle in Pope’s eyes. “You didn’t deny it,” he says, sing-song, ducking out of range of a half-hearted punch.

How the hell they’ve come to this, Pope giving him advice on his sex life, Anthony has no idea. Feels like just yesterday Anthony was shoving a gun in the racist bastard’s smirking, shitty face, but now.

Anthony sighs.

“I know it’s a foreign concept to you, Mr. Pope, but Dick is a person.”

“A person,” Pope mocks, “with a great ass.”

“Treat him with some damn respect.”

“That you want to fu-”

“Pope!”

Pope rolls his eyes, then cups his hands in front of him and makes an expansive movement at about waist level like he’s presenting him something worthy of worship. Anthony closes his eyes and counts to ten.

“I’m just pointing out a fact, Anthony.”

Don’t encourage Pope, Anthony knows this. Knows. But. Okay, so maybe he’s curious. Sue him.

“Fine, Pope,” Anthony says, ignores the snickering, “why do I, in all your great wisdom, want to, your words, ‘tap that’?”

Pope looks positively gleeful. Bad sign. Bad, horrible, very unfortunate sign.

“You like dick,” he starts with, “for one.”

Up ahead Hal chokes on his tongue. Has to stop, bent over at the waist, coughing until he can get his breath back. He takes one look at Dick, though, and his face screws up vaguely like he’s in pain.

Or trying to keep from laughing.

Dick passes him without so much as a side glance, or any indication he’s paying any attention to being talked about behind his back. Quite literally.

The man either has the patience of a saint or figures ignoring them all is his best option. Anthony can sympathize. He knew it was a bad sign.

“I meant the person,” Pope continues, voice dripping with false innocence to Anthony’s glare, “The person. Obviously. Clearly. Besides, you keep staring at that ass.”

“I do not.”

Hal drops back to walk beside them, taking up Anthony’s left side while Pope has the right. It feels worryingly like they’re caging him in, preventing escape despite the fact Anthony just has to walk forward to lose their company.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Hal says, “but he’s right. You do.”

“Are you serious? You’re taking his side?”

Hal shrugs, gaze tracking Dick, slowly sliding down his back. Where they stop Hal purses his mouth like he’s considering something, and then he tilts his head.

Pope crosses his arms, triumphant. “Got something to share with the class, Mason?”

“It’s a nice ass. I’m man enough to admit it.”

Jesus. Anthony takes in a deep breath.

“A person, guys,” he tries, “who can hear.”

Hal shrugs, again. “What? It’s a compliment.”

Yeah, Anthony thinks, except normal people compliment others on their smile, or their eyes, or their fucking clothes, for godsake. Not. That.

“You keep touching him too,” Pope continues, like they’re discussing the weather and not Anthony’s nonexistent thing for Dick. 

That sounded a lot less like innuendo in Anthony’s head. For about a second. Anthony groans. Now he’ll never be able to unsee, unthink, certain things when it comes to his friend. 

Maybe Dick is short for Richard?

Ric. Anthony could stand to call him Ric, instead. Resolves to bring it up with Dick later.

Right now he just has to make it through today.

“Always with the touching,” Pope says, wriggles his fingers at him, “Innocent touching, sad as that is, and man, that’s laughable.”

Anthony opens his mouth to tell Pope off with a selection of particularly choice phrases.

But Hal picks up Pope’s argument before he can. “You’re always together, dude. Joined at the hip.”

Anthony closes his mouth. Glares.

“Are not.”

“Are too,” Hal goes, grins.

Pope rubs his hands together. “Oooh, is it time for childish games already? Can I play?”

Hal rolls his eyes, leans back and flicks a finger at Pope’s jacket. Pope draws back, mock hurt, rubbing his shoulder.

“You two,” Anthony says, rubbing at his face, “are impossible.”

“But not wrong.”

Instantly alert, Anthony’s head jerks up at the new voice introducing itself into this clusterfuck of clusterfucks. He groans, loudly, and Dick just looks at him, mildly.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Hal’s grinning a devil’s grin now, snagging Pope by the sleeve and dragging him up ahead where people are beginning to stare. “Let’s let the lovebirds work things out.”

Lovebirds?

Anthony has half a mind to drag one of them, both of them, back and, and...and something horrible, but Anthony’s imagination takes a leap off a cliff when Dick steps into his personal space, nothing more than a curious glint to his eyes.

“Not,” he asks, tilting his head, “wrong?”

“You were listening to all that?”

“You weren’t exactly quiet.”

And Anthony groans again, chuckles nervously, goes “Look, I’m -”

Dick shrugs. “They make a compelling body of evidence.”

And Anthony’s jaw. Drops. He starts when a finger passes, oh so briefly (bare whisper of a touch) across his throat and then up under his chin, gently pressing up, closing his mouth for him.

Then hands are fisting in the collar of his shirt. Gray eyes flick up from his mouth to catch his eyes, a beat passes between them, and Anthony’s being yanked in. Anthony’s mouth opens automatically, still in shock, and Dick takes advantage of it to kiss him, hard, serious, forcing Anthony to wrap his arms around his neck or be overwhelmed.

Anthony’s vaguely aware of Hal whistling at them. Pope’s catcalls. Isn’t as important as the soft, wet against his lips, the warm scent of leather and clean sweat filling his nostrils, and the warm, warm body pressed nearly flush up against him.

He’s only jerked back into reality when Dick pulls away from him, as much as Anthony allows (which isn’t much, actually), teeth catching and gently pulling at Anthony’s bottom lip as he goes until they’re fully separated.

Then Dick shoulders his gun, ducks under Anthony’s arms, and returns to the march like nothing happened.

But he pauses while passing between Hal and Pope, giving them an undecipherable look.

“Stop staring at my ass.”

He leaves Hal spluttering and Pope in hysterical, full belly laughs, who shouts “no promises!” at his back.

Leaves Anthony touching his lips where the imprint of that kiss still lingers, still crackles with manic energy, in half bemusement, half oh god, _yes_.

If he proceeds to blatantly stare at Dick’s ass for the remaining duration of the journey, Anthony figures he has the damn right.

Wasn’t him Dick told off, after all.


End file.
